


Wasting Time

by parttimehuman



Series: Rarepair Galore [13]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, M/M, Public Sex, Smut, twlivebingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-10 06:06:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17420492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parttimehuman/pseuds/parttimehuman
Summary: Brett, Derek, and a shit ton of sexual tension. Sinema, a skirt and the night it finally happens.





	Wasting Time

**Author's Note:**

> For the smut bingo: Brett/Derek & Public Sex Acts. Another first with a new rare pair for me, hope someone enjoys.

"Why don't you ever dance with me?" Brett complains for about the fifth time that week, leaning against the bar across from Derek, making a pouty face. Derek can't suppress a chuckle. He's been tending the bar at Sinema for years, which means he's lost count of the people hitting on him half an eternity ago, but something about Brett Talbot's persistence amuses him. It's cute, kind of.

 

"Because this is my job and I'm not here to have fun like you, pretty boy," Derek answers with a smile, handing Brett a glass of water on the house, watching as he takes the straw between his lips and starts sucking, pale blue eyes fluttering open to look right into Derek's own.

 

"So you do think you'd have fun with me," Brett argues, seeming fairly pleased with that observation.

 

"I'm not blind, Brett," Derek sighs, realizing too late that he's flexing his pecs under Brett's gaze. "I've seen you dancing. But you're not here for me to tell you that you're hot. You already know that. You've got a whole club full of people waiting for their turn to tell you so. You shouldn't waste your time on me."

 

Brett rolls his eyes and sets his glass down. He really is adorable, no amount of cynicism can change that. Derek isn't like that anymore though. He doesn't need hungry eyes or grabby hands as a replacement for actual, personal validation anymore. He doesn't call the numbers that are handed to him along with the money for the drinks he sells, and on the rare occasions when he drives someone home after a work shift, getting them into their own bed safely truly is everything he's concerned about. The wild years did feel good, once, a long time ago, before they didn't anymore, and Derek doesn't plan to go back, not even for Brett Talbot, who keeps swinging his hips like he's asking to be bent over and properly fucked. Not even for him, Derek has to tell himself every time anew, although fighting the temptation doesn't get easier at all.

 

"One day, Derek," Brett says as he turns around to walk away, "one day you'll realize that the one who's been wasting his time was you." If only the shirt he's wearing that night wasn't so damn tight around his muscular body, and his ass not so perfect and round and... Derek needs to step out for a minute and breathe. Almost two years is how long they've been playing their little game, and he can feel himself losing. He's putting up a fight, but not with all that he's got, and time's running out, he knows it. He's losing, and that damn traitorous dick of his won't stop showing its excitement about it.

 

Two more weeks Derek takes it bravely, watching Brett dancing like a fucking sex god, feeling his own mouth water every time the other man leans forward, grabs someone's face and kisses them, tongue slipping inside a mouth in a way that has Derek wondering what it feels like. He's seen a lot of hot people at Sinema, and he's felt momentarily attracted to many of them too, but nobody's ever set a fire right under his skin like Brett Talbot has, daring him with a coy smile and dirty wink to forget all his principles.

 

When it gets too much, the illusion of control faltering, Derek takes all of his remaining holidays of the year and stays home, which is exactly when he knows how fucked he truly is. Out of sight clearly doesn't mean out of mind, and absolutely nowhere, no matter how far away from Sinema, can Derek get Brett out of his head. It gets to the point where he catches himself missing work, going back there after sixteen free days with a feeling of relief, and an even bigger feeling of impending doom.

 

As if he'd know this day's his best chance, Brett seizes Derek's first shift back after his holidays, playing the dirtiest move imaginable to Derek. Clearly, the games are over.

 

When Derek sees him walking in, he sucks in a breath and holds it for a moment. The image is a lot to take in, and he can't stop staring. He wants to, but it's not possible to avert his eyes. 

There's so much skin. Such long legs. At first it's just odd, the whole picture.  A man taller than himself and incredibly well built, a five o' clock shadow covering his jaw, wearing a skirt. And a crop top. Showing off his strong biceps and the perfect eight pack abs, but what truly kills Derek are the legs. Thick thighs covered in a soft looking light blond fuzz, taut calves and a pair of narrow ankles showing. He might actually faint.

 

Brett wants him to look, and Derek can't fight it this time. He feels Brett's eyes on his flushed face, and there's shame in him, because he didn't allow himself to become so weak, but it's so irrelevantly small compared to the wanton need that arises. He can't help himself. He's giving in and he's being watched by the only person whose opinion matters, but there's not even a tiny little bit of remorse inside him. Brett puts on a pretty smile and spins around, blond curls bouncing and the flowy fabric of the skirt flying as he does so. Derek needs to stop him before he can make it to the dance floor, or he might as well book his own funeral in advance.

"What do you think you're doing?" Derek growls in Brett's ear, holding him back by the arm, fingers digging into soft, warm flesh.

 

"Wasting my time," Brett answers with a smile. This time, it's genuinely shy. Derek has always paid attention to never touch him, and now he's invaded his space, like Brett has tried to make him so many times. They both know their game is about to end, either the one or the other way. Brett is hoping for the one way, and Derek doesn't believe he can go the other and ever forgive himself for it.

 

"I'm giving you one last chance," Derek mutters, his face so close to Brett's ear that he can smell him, in the middle of a dancing and sweating crowd that somehow is barely more than a blur of light and colors around them. "Leave. Go where your beautiful legs don't tempt me and don't ever come back."

 

Brett turns his head slightly and looks him in the eyes, swallowing. He's not going to run, Derek knows it. He's not afraid of anything but Derek not wanting him, which he'll prove soon enough is absolute and utter nonsense. In the blink of an eye, it's Brett who's got his lips at Derek's ear, warm breath tickling his skin. "If you think my legs are tempting you," Brett whispers, "maybe you should know I'm not wearing anything beneath this skirt."

 

"You must really be determined to ruin me, huh?" Derek hears himself replying with a low and slightly hoarse voice. "But I'm nothing if not generous, pretty boy. I'll ruin you right back. If you tell me right here and right now that you want it."

 

"I want it," Brett says without even a second of hesitation. "I've been wanting it since the moment I first set foot in here."

 

"Your twenty-first birthday," Derek nods, remembering a slightly younger version of Brett with a paper crown on his head. "Nobody's ever looked as graceful while puking on the sidewalk outside."

 

"Well, you know what they say, go big or go home," Brett smiles. "I was never the type to go home. Especially not when I was told to."

 

Derek reaches for Brett's hips and turns him around until they're face to face with each other. He loves that he has to crane his neck a little to kiss Brett, and he loves the feeling of his skin beneath his fingertips. Their lips brush lightly at first, but as always, Brett knows what he wants, and he knows how to get it, so he applies more pressure, licks over Derek's lips until he parts them, nibbles and teases with his teeth until Derek grabs a fistful of his hair and pulls carefully, swallowing the little whimper that follows as a reaction.

 

"You like that, pretty boy?" Derek asks, looking at Brett's lidded eyes and the kiss swollen lips, at his delicate neck and throat, fantasies coming alive in his mind as Brett nods eagerly despite the grip in his hair.

 

"I'll tell you what we're going to do, Brett," Derek announces, holding him at a short distance. "I'll tell you what I'm going to do to you, and I'll leave the choice to you. You can let me, or you can leave. I won't blame you, because I don't want to just dance with you. I'm not one of those thirsty boys and girls how hang on your lips for one night and then never again. I'm not looking to have some fun. If you want me, you're going to be mine." He can feel Brett shudder as he says it, nodding, begging him to continue. "I'm going find a seat somewhere in that corner over there. And if you're in, you're going to join me. You're going to sit on my lap so I can touch you. You're going to have to prove to me that you weren't bluffing. You're going to let me take care of you. Right there. You never seemed to have a problem with being watched. Now prove it."

 

A desperate whine escapes Brett as Derek let go of him, turning away and making his way to exactly where he said he was going, sitting down on one of the leather benches in the back of the club, where the light is dim and nobody takes a close look, but the chance is still there. He rubs his palms over his jeans, breathing in and out as he watches the colored lights flickering over Brett's skin as he walks, making step after elegant step towards him, clearly nervous and even more clearly aroused as he stands before him, putting his hands on Derek's shoulders before he moves to sit down, on Derek's lap as requested, with his knees bent at either side of Derek's hips, skirt sliding up from the position alone, exposing  thick, muscular thighs and soft blond hairs.

 

"I'm glad I could persuade you," Derek says, letting his hands slip beneath the dark fabric and hold Brett by the hips, discovering that there is in fact nothing else underneath the skirt, only skin and hair and dampness spreading from the tip of Brett's hard cock.

 

"I'm glad I could persuade you to persuade me," Brett replies with a cheeky grin, driving Derek insane with his cocky attitude, the sweetness outside not even remotely made to hide what filthy thoughts he's having as he sways his hips in the rhythm of the music playing, grinding down against Derek, his bare hass rubbing against denim and a clothed erection that starts throbbing with pure, desperate need to be touched.

 

"You got quite a mouth on you, pretty boy. I wonder what it takes to shut you up." Derek brings both hands around Brett's ass, rubbing the round globes of it, digging his fingernails in the flesh and listening to the little whimpers that it earns, pulling them apart and playing around, teasing Brett's entrance with the featherlight brush of a fingertip, getting muttered curses in return.

 

"Listen to me carefully, Brett," Derek says, biting his earlobe. "I've got lube. You get up now, and then you go to the room on the left before the kitchen entrance. There's a bag there, black. You get the lube from it and then you come back here. And then you better be ready."

 

Brett seems a little weaker on his legs than he previously was, getting up with a sloppy kiss on Derek's lips, walking away with large, purposeful steps, not bothering to pull the skirt back down. There's nothing more arousing that Derek could possibly picture in that moment.

 

It takes Brett slightly longer to return than anticipated, and Derek almost gets worried after a while. He'd get up to go looking if it wasn't for the very obvious dent in his pants, but then Brett's back on his lap, greeting him with his tongue down Derek's throat, rocking up and down against him, putting a bottle of lube in Derek's hand.

 

"What have you been doing?" Derek wants to know, slowly moving his hands where they were, spreading Brett's ass.

 

"Getting ready," Brett explains, "like you told me to." Derek only truly understands when he discovers that Brett's hole is all warm and slicked up, pulsing against his fingers. That boy is going to be the end of him. He knew it before, but in that moment, he might just understand how deep he's in it.

 

As much as Derek appreciates Brett showing some initiative, he wants to be the one in control, and he knows Brett wants to give up control, wants to let go and throw his head back like he does when he's dancing, wants to give in to his lust and get lost in it. Derek couldn't dream of anything better than being the cause of it, so he attacks Brett's neck with his lips and teeth, kissing first, then sucking bruises into the tender skin and leaving a bite mark at either side that has Brett bucking up against him. He pushes one finger inside Brett's heat, feeling his hole give way for him as he looks around at literally a few dozens of people who are currently close enough to be able to tell exactly what they're doing.

 

Brett practically begins purring as Derek starts to move his finger in and out of him, holding onto Derek's shoulders and pushing himself down on his finger, making an attempt to ride it until Derek has enough and takes over, slinging one arm around him to hold him in place while he adds a second finger and pumps them both in and out quickly, stretching Brett open and making his forehead drop to Derek's shoulder, his moans just loud enough to go straight to Derek's cock but not drowning out the music.

 

"Look at you losing it," Derek whispers in his ear while he fucks him relentlessly with two fingers. "All these people around us. They could see us. They could see you, hanging in my lap and moaning, offering me your ass. Just one close look and they'd see exactly how thirsty you are for me. Does that turn you on, pretty boy? Do you like it that your skirt is all the way up to your ass and my fingers are going to make you cum and people might see it?"

 

Brett turns his head slightly to look into the dancing crowd, but it doesn't stop him from trying to move to get a quicker pace. He's rutting against Derek's hard, covered dick, the noises falling from his lips not becoming any quieter. He stays like that for a few moments, then he pushes himself up and kisses Derek again, his tongue demanding.

 

"Fuck me," he says bluntly, biting his lip right after the words are out.

 

"I don't have a-"

 

"I have one," Brett interrupts him. "And you're right. It does turn me on. The only thing I can imagine right now that would be even hotter, is for you to fuck me. Right here. Now.  I want it. I want your cock inside me, Derek. Do it. Fuck me."

 

What Derek imagined is more to make Brett come to take the edge off a little and then take him home to devour him in peace, with all the time he needs to make up for every single one of the missed opportunities.  But of course, because it's Brett, there's always something better than the good he planned waiting, and of course, he can't find it in him to say no, so he leans back as Brett's hands undo his pants, his crotch hidden underneath the taut fabric of Brett's skirt, same as Brett's hand stroking him.

 

"Only you would ask a man to give you his cock at Sinema, pretty boy," Derek comments with an amused smirk as Brett rolls down a condom on his dick, fingers quick and skilled.

 

"Not any man," Brett promises. "Only one, actually." With those words he raises his ass until Derek's fingers slip out, repositioning himself and lining Derek's cock up with his entrance. There's Brett's skirt covering all the private bits of both of them, not that it's hard to tell what's happening as Brett sinks down slowly with a moan, Derek's hands holding him around the waist.

Brett moves, not fast or wild but gracefully, circling his hips, clenching tight around Derek every now and again, building him up without having to do much, two hands slipping beneath his shirt and playing with his nipples, teeth nipping at his jaw and throat, the weight on top of him shifting, the heat and tightness around his cock pushing him until he loses all composure.

 

Derek grabs Brett's jaw and kisses him with hunger, pushing his tongue between his lips and feeling deep moans sending vibrations through him. He holds Brett still against his chest and snaps his hips upwards, earning a cry. He isn't going to last long, not this first time, so he wraps one hand around Brett's cock and starts thrusting inside him, making sure to go hard and deep every time while jerking him off, going faster until Brett bites down on his lip and starts trembling, clenching around him as he comes, allowing Derek to let go as well, the music barely louder as the guttural groan he can't hold back.

 

"You think anybody saw us?" Brett asks, cheeks red, chest heaving heavily.

 

"I think pretty much everyone saw us," Derek answers truthfully, smacking Brett's ass before he pulls out. They try their best to be subtle as the rearrange themselves and sit up, Derek pulling Brett into another deep kiss.

 

"What now?" Brett wants to know as he pulls away, his eyes shimmering darkly. What else did Derek expect?

 

"Now you get your things and wait at my car," Derek says. "I think I owe you dance, but I only do private dances at my place."

 

"Oh, I think you owe me more than one-"

 

Another loud smack to Brett's ass follows. "Shut up, pretty boy. You're getting everything that you want."


End file.
